Dance
by GiorgiaKerr
Summary: Martin, Danny, and dancing. D/M.
1. Chapter 1

**Spoilers:** And for this chapter, we have Portishead to thank.

**Disclaimer:** Merry Christmas to all. I hope you enjoy reading this chapter as much as I did writing it.

**Author's Note:** As much as I love Mozart, requiems are not particularly conducive to writing anything but essays. That should tell you something about essays.

* * *

Martin breathed in deeply, loving and hating the smell all at the same time. Sweat, alcohol, perfume, and just the faintest undertone of sex. It was the kind of place he'd raided dozens of over in White Collar; he was well aware of what went on in the toilets, in the alley out back. Hell, on the dance floor.

But for some inexplicable reason – one he preferred to _keep_ inexplicable – he'd let himself be dragged here. By Danny, no less. Martin would have thought Danny to be the last person to frequent such places. He knew the behind-the-scenes goings on as well as Martin did; and then there was the alcohol. That in itself was inexplicable.

But then, most things with Danny _were_.

The way he could be here - in the crowd, on the floor, head back, without caring – amazed Martin. The vibe that oozed about him in the most captivating of ways, setting half the floor's sights to him and him alone, didn't fail to captivate Martin in the same way. But the fact that the man _emanated_ sex made Martin uncomfortable. In the strangest of ways, he could swear Danny was doing this all for him.

And that, more than anything, was what kept Martin off the floor.

The music was thrumming. Its continuous bass resounded in Martin's limbs, in his chest; his head.

As he realized that he was allowing himself to get swept up, Martin shook his head, only to notice a woman standing in front of him. Her expression told Martin everything he needed to know and he shook his head again, darkness and flashing lights hiding his blush. She smiled apologetically then, biting her bottom lip and running a hand up Martin's thigh as she moved back to the dance floor.

Martin watched her retreating, eyes avoiding her too-bare legs as the music seemed to get louder. As she disappeared into the crowd, Martin's eyes caught a flash of someone else, watching him, grinning.

Danny; motionless now.

Martin didn't – _couldn't_ - look away as Danny started moving again, eyes still holding the telltale traces of a smirk before sliding closed only momentarily. They opened to Martin's again as the music calmed; the only thing heard for a few seconds was bass before the rest of the music seemed to catch up.

Danny's eyes now held more than a smirk, more than amusement over Martin's refusal to dance. God, what they held now, Martin couldn't even name. Something so terrifyingly akin to lust that it made Martin's cheeks redden; but something Martin could only perceive as affection that made him blush for an entirely different reason.

And even though Martin knew he couldn't – knew he couldn't because the lights were so dim, the air so thick – Danny smiled as if he _knew_.

As if he knew that Martin blushed; just for him.

And all Martin could do was look away, because it was either look away or stare. And staring was just too much. Too much to compartmentalize the way Martin needed to. Danny's reactions to him and his own reactions to Danny were too much, and Martin couldn't handle that.

The way Danny stared at him with such an animalistic energy as he moved, even the way he moved… Martin was sure he'd never seen anything so personal, so intimate.

Martin's eyes moved unconsciously back to Danny as the word pressed itself into his consciousness, mixing with the bass beat of the music and making him light-headed, as if he weren't truly there. At least not physically.

Martin was sure he'd never lost so much self-control in his life. Even as a child he was more disciplined than this; better at blocking, repressing and storing memories with utter detachment. But now. Now he was beyond attached; he was _involved_. In what, he didn't know; didn't have the faintest clue because nothing had ever been like this before.

Keeping himself grounded had never been so hard.

And still, Danny was watching him; Martin could _feel_ it. For the life of him, Martin couldn't figure out why. What he saw in Danny's eyes – or what he thought he saw – didn't add up to anything Martin had ever known. The strange mix of desire and something else – something _more_ - was foreign to him, which scared him more than he cared to admit.

But Danny's eyes were holding Martin's with such clarity, such confidence. Martin swallowed deliberately, as if trying to swallow the music, the thrumming of bass and bodies, of sweat and of sex.

Then something moved across Danny's face. Decisive and powerful, and Martin took a step back as Danny took a step forward. Danny's face showed only a hint of surprise, though his eyes – still holding Martin's – smoldered more than ever. Without provocation this time, Martin took a step back, turning to the door. He kept moving, despite knowing that Danny would follow.

The music still hummed through his head, intoxicating, but now it was only grating at his patience. Incessant and too loud, and everything that would be bound to give him a headache, and he wondered suddenly how he had gotten to be so _angry_. His shoulders tensed and his jaw clenched, so that when he felt a hand on his arm, he almost swung. Almost, until turning and finding Danny's eyes, still staring at him with the same expression.

"Martin."

And it was the most decisive thing Martin had ever heard.

The music seemed to slow again, quieter somehow, and Martin was sure it was just his imagination. But then Danny's hand slid down his arm and grasped Martin's hand. Without hesitation, Martin was being pulled onto the dance floor, and the music became louder again, the bass hitting him full force as Danny smiled at him.

Martin felt light-headed again, closing his eyes and just letting Danny lead him to wherever it was he was being taken.

His eyes opened again when he felt Danny stop. As the floor vibrated to the rhythm of the music, Danny took a step closer to Martin, eyes still aflame, though a small smirk kicked the corners of his mouth. Martin felt his hand being moved, but couldn't look to where; couldn't look away from Danny's face, his mouth, his _eyes_. God, those eyes: they would kill Martin if he were sure he wasn't already dead.

Martin felt his hand being placed firmly against Danny's hip, felt Danny move to the beat again; a beat elusive to Martin. He felt a weight against his shoulder as Danny's hand gripped it, still moving far too smoothly against Martin as Danny pulled himself closer. Martin was sure Danny realized the position they were in: the parody of a romantic dance.

Martin closed his eyes as all his senses both faltered and heightened at the same time, creating the strangest sensation Martin had ever felt. The music and Danny were wholly synchronized and Martin had trouble distinguishing the two, his head still spinning just enough.

Martin remained motionless as Danny's hand moved from his shoulder to his neck, fingers caressing in time with the music. Martin's head fell back, eyes still closed, breathing heavier than it had ever been.

Breathing that stopped when Martin felt slight, _warm_ pressure against his throat. He moaned as Danny's lips lingered, and Danny must have liked that reaction because he laughed against Martin's throat, breath whispering across his skin. And Danny's body still moved against Martin's in a way Martin had never even considered _possible_; never dared to.

With the first voluntary movement Martin had made since Danny first touched him, he straightened, his eyes meeting Danny's. Eyes that were still full of such naked passion that Martin had to concentrate on breathing. Martin brought his free hand up to Danny's other hip, barely registering that his grip on Danny's hips tightened. Barely registering that he started – however shyly – to move with Danny, _against_ Danny.

Danny's free hand moved to join the other, his fingers linking behind Martin's neck.

All Martin felt was the melodic drone of the bass and Danny's hands; everywhere, although he was sure they weren't moving. As Martin's eyes met Danny's again, he knew that the passion he could see in Danny's eyes was reflected in his own, and it scared him much less than it should have; much less than it would have in the past.

Martin's eyes drifted shut as Danny's forehead touched his own; he could feel – _taste_ - Danny's breath, heavy as his own.

"Danny."

And it was the most decisive thing Martin had ever said.

* * *

In the mood of decisiveness: Please Review?


	2. Chapter 2

**Spoilers:** So, I'm going with all the dancing clichés I can find, here. I've managed to hold out for this long. Though, I can't really make them totally cliché…

**Disclaimer:** And we have Coleman Hawkins to thank for this piece. Oh yeah, longest chapter _ever_. I have a new personal best!

**Author's Note:** I'm recovering from Math Cheat Sheet Making/Revision of Probability/actually doing the evil probability test, so I'm writing to help release the inevitable stress that this causes. I can fail this test anyway; I don't know why I bother…

* * *

Danny cast his eyes around the crowded room; suits and dignified amounts of glitter met his eyes. He sighed as he looked at his watch: three more hours until he could leave.

Three long, boring hours.

Public relations were not his thing. He knew he could charm just about anyone with a smile and a few sentences, but, really, most of the people here he didn't want to charm. The men were standing around in clumps, artfully avoiding sitting at their assigned tables, while the women – who were much fewer in number – were scattered between groups and tables.

He and Vivian were the only two at their own assigned table, while the rest of the team mingled appropriately. Jack stood with a glass of champagne, a few other men, and a dissatisfied scowl; Elena and Samantha were sticking relatively close together, both having been given permission to leave early; and Martin was – not unexpectedly – standing rather uncomfortably within the group occupied by the Men Upstairs.

Every now and then Danny caught Martin's sarcastic expression whilst talking to the men and had to stifle a laugh. It was a face that Victor and his cohorts would never pick up on. Despite how good most FBI agents were at reading people, Victor lacked a certain something when it came to reading his son.

Danny was still trying to decide whether Victor's ignorance stemmed from shame or denial; but for the moment he was quite content to seethe in secret at Victor's entirely artificial affection for his son.

Danny watched as Victor clapped a hand to Martin's shoulder, grinning fittingly as his assembly smiled and nodded. He doubted very much that they were paying any attention to what Victor was saying. This thought gave him a rather unwarranted amount of satisfaction until he saw Martin cringe just a little under his father's grip. It was the kind of look that an undercover cop might get when hugged by a drug dealer; muted disgust. Danny felt for him.

He wished he was at a high enough level to be able to rescue Martin from this obvious discomfort, but he knew how he'd be received by Victor Fitzgerald. The only thing that could get Martin out of this situation was for Victor to find something else to brag about.

As that thought appeared, Martin cast a helpless glance at Danny. Danny smiled back sympathetically; it turned into a smirk when Martin stifled his own grin and turned back to his father. Danny chuckled, gaining Vivian's attention. She raised an eyebrow at him and he shook his head, flapping a hand in Martin's direction.

"I feel like I should go save him," he said, a resigned frown on his face. Vivian just smiled.

Danny very much liked Vivian's way of communicating. He didn't have to over-think things; she only second-guessed him when he was wrong; and she never talked when it wasn't necessary.

Danny continued to watch Martin, too bored to do anything else. People fascinated him; FBI agents did not.

Except, apparently, this one.

Danny suddenly realized that his watching had quickly turned into staring. Which wasn't a particularly uncommon occurrence, but in his current company, it would probably not be looked upon too favorably.

To ward off potential for such moments, Danny sent a look around the room, studying all the suits and gowns more closely. He scanned the crowd as he would at a club, though a less hopefully; the probability of finding a date here seemed much less likely. He picked up his glass of water deliberately as he realized what he was actually doing. He really _must_ have been bored to be ogling colleagues.

Really, he decided, there were only three people in the room who warranted Danny's attention. There was Elena, who was looking possibly even more attractive than usual and as graceful as ever. But Danny had learned that that was a path best left untraveled. Flirting was never as fun when it was reciprocated, anyway.

A man who Danny assumed was not an FBI agent, but in fact the _husband_ of one of his colleagues, was another. He managed to look totally comfortable, though, which Danny had to admit was not really his type. Besides the fact that he was married and therefore most likely straight. Not that that _usually_ bothered Danny…

And then there was Martin; the man who was his main reason for wanting to leave, and his only motivation to stay. Danny was at a loss when it came to Martin; he knew they were friends, and good friends at that, but he was still conflicted. And Danny was not used to feeling conflicted.

Even as a teen he'd always known who he was. Perhaps not where he fit in, but as an individual, he was confident. He'd never boxed himself into any categories - society had done that for him. And most of those he'd fought like hell to live down. And with most of them he'd succeeded. The only thing he could recall that ever made him question himself was his alcoholism.

And this thought didn't help his confusion over Martin.

Feeling a nudge, Danny realized that Vivian had noticed his distraction.

"You okay, Danny?" she asked, concern etched on her face.

Danny forced himself to smile, if only for Vivian's benefit. She had been a kind of mother-figure since he had joined the MPU; and for that he was more than grateful. Vivian, Jack and Samantha had formed a sort of surrogate family for him, whether deliberately or not.

Danny decided that was not going to get out of this one so easily; Vivian was giving him her patented Mother-look. Danny caved expectedly. He'd never been too good at hiding his emotions anyway. Hell, before Martin, he had never _had_ to.

"Yeah, Viv, I'm just bored," he told her, sighing for effect and fidgeting in his seat. Vivian seemed to buy it, though she stared at him for a few more seconds before turning back to her drink.

* * *

An hour and a half later, Danny was sitting up a little straighter in his seat, a small smirk on his face. It was unwarrantedly amusing to see FBI agents dancing, especially considering how little rhythm most of them had.

Danny cast another glance at Martin. He'd been stuck talking to his father for at least a half hour, but just as Danny was preparing himself to go and talk to Martin, a young woman had stepped up to him, having apparently been waiting for an opening.

A young woman who was currently trying to drag Martin onto the dance floor. Danny snorted, figuring she was the daughter of a director.

She was pretty enough, though she was clearly about half Martin's age, and Martin was clearly uninterested. And had been for the past hour. Martin now just looked torn, and Danny could see why. On the one hand, dancing with the – probably underage - daughter of a director could be severely damaging to his career. On the other hand, _refusing_ a director's daughter wasn't much better.

Danny saw Martin's jaw clench before he finally conceded, being all but dragged onto the floor by the smitten teen. Danny was suddenly jealous. He wished – very fleetingly – that he could move onto the dance floor and grab Martin, spin him gracefully; touch him.

The thought was forced out of his head at that point. Danny had never been a romantic, but Martin seemed intent on inadvertently breaking all his rules. On the other hand, it was probably better than entertaining his _usual_ Martin-related thoughts. In public.

At that moment, Vivian returned – Danny hardly even having registered her leaving – from a very uninterested dance and stood rather accusingly in front of him. Danny looked up, not able to keep the guilty look from his face.

"Yes, Viv?" he asked sweetly. She smiled evilly and held out her hand. Danny groaned; he should have seen this coming.

"No, thanks," he said, smiling innocently. Vivian tried to stare him down. When it didn't work, she changed tactic.

"You're going to subject me to this room full of people by myself?" she asked. Danny was wavering, so she tried again. "Come on, you look miserable," she added. Danny refrained from making a snide remark and placed his hand in hers.

She smiled victoriously, and Danny made a mental note to get back at her for this. Still, he couldn't help but smile back; Vivian had an impish way of doing this. His smile wavered, however, when he spotted Martin and his impromptu dance partner over Vivian's shoulder. He couldn't stop the smirk that spread in its wake when he saw just how uncomfortable Martin looked. Not only was he quite a terrible dancer, but he was so blatantly trying to keep his hands off the girl as much as possible.

He chuckled at the sight, and Vivian raised her eyebrow at him. Danny just smiled at her and she could hear the _wouldn't you like to know?_ that that came with it. She shook her head at him but remained silent. He mentally thanked her for that as he continued to stare at Martin, realizing – again – what he was doing all too late as Martin's eyes met his.

For a few seconds, Danny didn't react, only stared at his partner. Martin's eyes seemed to soften a little, his hands growing less tense about the girl he was dancing with. And he smiled.

Danny just about choked.

Martin wasn't smiling at him in his usual manner – an automatic response to Danny smirking. He was smiling shyly, blushing faintly, and looking something like a teenage boy who'd just had his first kiss. The thought made Danny's mind go blank as he smiled back.

Obviously, Martin had been paying more attention to the music that had been playing than Danny, and stopped moving as the song ended, the girl looking rather disappointed. Smirking at her discomfort, Danny looked deliberately from the girl to Martin, letting him know exactly how he felt about her. Martin looked confused before his eyes widened _ever_ so slightly and he looked at the floor, his cheeks pink.

It didn't go unnoticed by Danny, though, that Martin extricated himself from the girl completely.

* * *

One hour. One hour and Danny could leave. He felt the ticking in his head like an anxious school kid, waiting for the final bell. Still, the only thing keeping Danny even remotely interested in anything at the function was Martin. Which, he decided, was incredibly unfortunate.

Elena and Samantha had left already, having child-rearing duties that Danny was almost jealous of. Vivian had been given the all-clear to leave by Jack, but was stuck making small-talk with a little circle of other female agents. Danny could tell she hated it; all she wanted to do was get home. Besides, feminine issues were not really Vivian's thing.

Danny wasn't sure whether it was just his mood that was sending up read flags, but no one seemed the slightest bit inclined to talk to him. Which was probably just as well; he wasn't really in a talkative mood.

Martin had again been dragged onto the dance floor, this time by a slightly older woman, but one whom Danny was pretty certain Martin actually knew. He smiled at things she said, sometimes almost genuinely. _Probably the girl's mother_, he thought with a laugh.

Letting his mind wander a little - if only to pass time - he imagined the feel of Martin's hand in his; Martin's breath on his neck. Martin's body against his. And then he was doing it again. Of all the habits in the world…

Martin's eyes suddenly found Danny's over his new partner's head. Again, he smiled, though a little more playfully than last time, as if asking him a question. Like _why are you staring at me?_ Danny just smirked for the fiftieth time that night and flicked his eyebrows, shrugging as if daring Martin to ask.

Martin grinned this time.

And God, _why_ did the man have to look so good in a tux?

Danny squirmed and positioned himself further under the table.

* * *

Danny all but counted the ten minutes until he could leave. He knew that Jack was a prompt time-keeper, and any time missed now would probably translate into extra paperwork. Tenfold, knowing Jack.

He sighed as he noticed Martin making the rounds to say a false goodbye to everyone with whom he'd talked – or danced – in the past four hours. The girl looked unduly sad by the notion of Martin leaving. Danny could sympathize; Martin was the only thing getting _him_ through this night, too. She pouted a little as Martin grinned and offered her his hand to shake.

Danny laughed as the girl took the offered hand and then stalked away, probably in search of another victim. Martin looked a little guilty before slipping his mask of geniality back in place and moving over to the spot occupied by his father.

Victor didn't miss a beat and grinned at his son, thrusting his hand into Martin's and clapping him on the shoulder. Danny was too far away to hear the obligatory well-wishing as Martin shook each man's hand that he knew was being said. Still, he could tell that a few of the men held a legitimate fondness for Martin, even if his father didn't. He smiled at the thought, wondering what Victor Fitzgerald thought of this.

As Martin began to approach him, he decided he didn't care. Martin smiled resignedly and looked at Danny with a frown.

"You ready to go?" he asked quietly. Danny nodded, wondering why Martin had bothered to ask; it wasn't like they'd shared a car. Or anything at all, really.

"I've been ready since we got here," he replied, earning a small smile. Martin cast a glance around the room and nodded to someone Danny had to turn to see; Jack. He nodded back, smiling ever so slightly before turning back to his conversation. Martin smiled at Danny.

"We've got the all-clear; I think we should make a run for it," he said. They moved simultaneously out the doors of the hall. Danny couldn't resist poking some fun at Martin s they left the building.

"Yeah, before another woman decides you're fair game," he said, earning a shocked look from Martin. They smiled at each other before Martin spoke.

"God, she can't have been older than seventeen…" he complained with a laugh in a rare moment of openness. Danny grinned and nodded.

"Yeah, judging by who her father probably is, I'd be happy that you've got friends in MPU," he added. Martin's snort was both in agreement and irony. Danny nudged playfully him as they approached Central Park. "You're saving grace was probably that you suck at dancing."

Martin scoffed at him before a blush crept onto his cheeks and he looked down. "Really? That bad?" he asked worriedly, though Danny could hear a hint of amusement in his voice. He knew he was bad. Danny decided to save him a little embarrassment and shrugged.

"I've seen worse," he told Martin as they moved somewhat unconsciously into the park. "Still, it doesn't hurt to actually _touch_ your partner," he added; only realizing the double-entendre after he'd said it. Fortunately, Martin didn't seem to notice for embarrassment.

"I didn't want to be killed by her father; very probable considering his stance on weapons," Martin added sardonically. Danny grinned; he should have known Martin knew her father. "I'm fortunate enough not to have met the terror herself until tonight," he said. Danny looked at him, wondering where this sudden cynicism had come from. Martin was usually the picture of civility - at least on the outside. It suddenly dawned on him why.

"How was your father?" he asked. Martin looked a little lost by the sudden topic change, but took a deep breath. They walked in silence for a few minutes.

"He was everything Victor Fitzgerald should be," he answered finally, a hint of malice in his voice. Danny was slightly shocked to register Martin's tone as one of resignation. Spotting the nearest bench, Martin made for it, looking as if he wanted to throw himself under it, but instead sitting down with a measured precision.

Danny noticed Martin's I-don't-want-to-talk-but-really-do look and took a seat next to him. It was times like these that Danny would either have to push, or stay silent. Which to employ at any given time was a surprisingly difficult thing to discern. Danny decided this time to push.

"It's okay to be angry at him, Martin," he told him softly. Martin looked into the darkness and sighed. When he remained silent, Danny stood up. Martin's eyes flicked to his, confused. On seeing Danny's grin, Martin raised a warning eyebrow. This particular expression on Danny meant trouble.

"No, Danny," he said firmly. "Whatever it is: no."

Danny just grinned wider and grabbed the lapels of Martin's jacket, hauling him – reluctantly - off the seat.

"What are you doing?" Martin asked him with a mixture of boredom, fear, dread and amusement. Try as he may to refuse, Danny's actions always got the better of him eventually.

"I'm teaching you to dance," he said happily. Martin stopped. This couldn't be happening. The last thing he needed right now was a dance tutorial; he really just wanted to go home and sink into his mattress and never come out. With that thought he realized that the previous spite that he had been feeling was gone.

He looked curiously at Danny, who was, disturbingly, smiling like a teenage girl.

"Come on, Fitz, you know you want to," he all but purred, moving them from the pavement to the grass. Martin was totally confused, and he really didn't want to dance. Danny indicated to the grass. "In case you fall over," he teased.

Martin's eyes narrowed. He knew that Danny was only saying it to get him to agree; to take this as a challenge. And, he noted with a hint of annoyance, it worked. Before he realized what he was doing, he sighed.

"Fine."

Danny's smile was almost worth it. "Okay, _bueno_," he agreed. "Hand," he commanded, holding out his own. Martin stared at it for a minute as though it were a foreign object before reluctantly offering his own. Danny rolled his eyes and grabbed Martin's hand.

Noting the shock that Martin's hand in his sent through him, he almost regretted this. But not quite.

"Now, I'll lead, or else we'll probably end up needing the grass," Danny teased a little awkwardly. Martin looked expectedly modest, but his face was soon a mask of concentration. If he was going to learn, he may as well do it _properly_. He placed his hand on Danny's shoulder hesitantly and Danny's hand was on his back almost immediately.

To Martin's absolute horror, Danny looked perfectly comfortable. "Imagine a rhythm," Danny told him quietly, suddenly remembering that he was actually supposed to be helping Martin. Martin who was currently staring at him with total helplessness. Danny smiled, more comfortable now that he knew he was, indeed, leading.

Looking at Martin, he started to move. Martin's eyes briefly kept his, but quickly dropped to Danny's feet, which were moving gracefully – as usual – on the grass. This was just unfair. And way beyond humiliating.

"You must really have disliked that girl, huh?" Danny asked suddenly. Martin looked up at him with a frown and Danny motioned to Martin's hand in his, holding on much tighter than he'd ever bothered with the girl. Martin blushed and loosened his grip, muttering a 'sorry', only to have Danny tighten his. Martin's frown deepened.

"I didn't like her much, either," Danny admitted with a mocking smile. Martin smiled and shook his head at Danny; possibly the strangest person Martin had the pleasure of knowing.

"I'm really not as bad at this as you seem to think I am," Martin told Danny confidently. Raising an eyebrow in challenge, Danny pulled Martin the slightest bit closer, and started moving a little faster.

Martin's breath caught as Danny's grip on his back tightened and he looked at him, as if for an answer. Danny just smiled, almost politely, and to Martin's shock, began to pull away. Martin briefly wondered if the function had driven Danny insane.

Deciding – with impressively little conscious thought - that Danny leaving was not something Martin wanted, he used their still-clasped hands to pull him back. He tugged a little too hard.

Danny grabbed onto Martin to stop himself from falling, and Martin couldn't help but notice that this was probably the first time he'd ever seen Danny lose balance. But, damn him, he managed to do it gracefully.

As Danny quickly righted himself, he felt Martin's hand on his back, and suddenly realized that they were dancing again. Only this time they were much closer; and somehow, this felt both more and less awkward than before.

Danny felt Martin's breath on his lips and tried not to inhale too obviously. He noted that Martin hadn't been drinking tonight, and this, for some reason, made Danny slightly giddy. And Danny did not do giddy. Except, apparently, where Martin was involved.

As if to prove his point, Danny pulled Martin almost unbearably closer. He watched Martin's eyes close for just a little too long to be construed as entirely neutral. At this, he smirked, a bit of his control and composure coming back after too long a break.

Leaning forward, he brushed his cheek across Martin's only slightly to whisper in his ear.

"You're really not that bad," Danny conceded. Something in Danny's tone – or perhaps it was his proximity – told Martin that he wasn't talking about his dancing. At the thought, Martin blushed just enough for Danny to feel the warmth of Martin's cheek against his own.

Smirking again, Danny decided that he may as well convince Martin of some previously elusive facts and turned his head to press his lips to Martin's jaw.

Martin reacted just as Danny had thought he would: tensing despite his now closed eyes. Martin had now stopped moving entirely, and Danny was almost panicked by it, but then Martin's eyes opened.

And all Danny could see was flashes something wonderfully akin to desire, laced - more often than not - with flashes of panic. Danny smirked at him again, letting Martin know exactly what he was about to do, before moving his hand from Martin's shoulder to the back of his neck; both panic and desire intensified.

Danny noticed only a brief flicker of what he could have sworn was determination in Martin's eyes before he pulled him closer, sweeping his lips across Martin's with much more self-control than Danny had previously thought he possessed. Martin still didn't move.

Despite how many times Danny had thought of doing this, this scenario had never crossed his mind. He'd expected an explosion of passion. Or of Martin's sexual repression – whichever came first.

This, though…

This was new; both for Danny's imagination and his experience. It all suddenly seemed so facile, so pathetically romantic. And – ironically - that made it the most confronting sexual encounter of his life. If he could call this sexual.

Then Martin pulled him closer, turning a caress into something more, and Danny decided that – yes – he could definitely call this sexual.

* * *

If anyone has another dancing cliché they'd like me to attempt, please suggest it! I'm looking for more!

Love.


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